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JAMES HENRY WILLIAMS 

AutKor of tKis Legend 



Legend of tKe Cave 
of the Winds 



By 

JAMES HENRY WILLIAMS 

Bom May y(^, 1843 
Tuscarav^as County, Ohio 






CopyrigKt, 19 14 

By JAMES HENRY WILLIAMS 

Colorado Springs, Colorado 





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PREFACE 

All mankind have a history, and circumstances in 
which they may be placed oft times, stimulates their 
entire being so that their inborn Spirit presents that 
for which they were created. 

Otherwise the true picture of theii^ nature would 
forever have been silent. 

It was this that caused me to surrender my legal 
profession, and I, like many others, thru necessity 
crossed the plains, my destination, the Rockies. And 
when I think of the hardships, what must have been 
the suffering of General Zebulon Pike and his conv 
rades so early as 1804. Well does he deserve having 
the great mountain named in his honor. 

It was near this great mountain, now known as 
Pike's Peak, that the Ute Indians from time imme- 
morial enjoyed this beautiful mountainous place. It 
was their happy home and they enjoyed it. 

I stated that circumstances often brought out the 
real spirit of an individual. It was this that caused 
me to blaze my way among the crags and peaks of 
the Rockies, and brighten the incentive, to picture 
this beautiful poetical legend connecting Ute Chief 
White Wing and his daughter, Juanita, and her lover, 
Wampuno, with the Cave of the Winds, otherwise 
it would never have been written. With it I have 



pictured the beauty, the grandeur and the sublimity 
of the front range ; its sweet and heahng waters, its 
caves and caverns with walls sparkling with brilliant 
crystal beauty; that since the primitive age, has 
formed its stalagmites. 

I have described in poetical language the nature 
of the Red man, his loyalty to his kinsmen, and love 
from youth to maturity. 

All men and women are endowed with more or 
less ability, which circumstances often facilitate, and 
when enthused, they become apparently inspired by 
the surroundings. Thus, the poet has his inspiration 
and lives in his happy aesthetic sweetness, which 
none but he can enjoy. It is his happiness, his love, 
his own guiding star. It affords me much pleasure, 
to present this novel legend, to those who can appre- 
ciate and enjoy poetical compositions, and those who 
are so fortunate as to secure it, can more fully appre- 
ciate the beauties of this novel place, its sweet and 
healing waters, its sublime scenery, and its caves and 
caverns, that are apparently hidden within the lids 
of this most wonderful picturesque and mountainous 
country. 

And I, James Henry Williams, Author of this 
Legend, was born in Tuscarawas County, Ohio, May 
the 7th, 1843. 



8 




Vegetable Garden, Cave of tKe Winds, Manitou, Colo. 



THE CAVE 

Cavities of earth ! Mysteries veiled ! 
Formed in the primitive ages dim ; 
With extended halls and canon walls. 
When planets new sang praise to Him. 
Spirit of fame ! Wonder of earth ! 
With beautiful domes and temples grand ; 
Hidden for ages of time unknown, 
Formed by Nature's invincible hand! 

Beautiful place! Pride of the hills! 
With extended walls, and frescoed halls ! 
Cathedrals, castles, temples grand ; 
Formed by the Creator's unseen hand ; 
Stalagmites, spirals, stay to thy rest, 
While sparkling crystals silver thy breast, 
Time has polished thy calcite walls; 
From the echo voice, the sound recoils. 

Thy place is near the waters sweet. 
Where climbing ways reach to thy dome ; 
And by thy walls and beauties fair, 
Lovers true, delight to roam. 
Where rocks along thy rugged steep. 
And canons deep and long abound. 
Where walls for ages polished fair, 
The soft wind plays a crooning sound. 

Now the white man comes to light thy fame, 
And show the world thy wonders fair, 
And bright thy rooms and circle domes. 
And calcite walls and crystals rare. 
He much enjoys thy cooling breath. 
That moves within thy hallowed frame; 
And with thy crystals and thy age, 
He crowns thee with the caves of fame. 



LEGEND OF THE CAVE OF 
THE WINDS 

It's where the rocks for passing ages 
Press their peaks toward the sky, 
Where the spirit of creation 
Stays the low crag and the high; 
In this wild wood of the mountains, 
There the eagle's piercing cry — 
Breaks the vision of the stillness 
As her shadow passes by. 
In this rockland, near the cragland, 
Comes a sad-like sounding breeze ; 
That croons along the canyons, 
And throbs among the trees. 

In this rough land of the Cave land, 
Where the canons deep are seen ; 
From the high point of the mountains, 
Where the rocks so heavy lean; 
Where the moon in pallid fullness, 
Sends her rays of lurid light. 
As she shadows ghostly vision, 
In the halo of the night. 
Here the night bat with his web-wing 
Flutters in the evening breeze. 
And the soft wind croons a moaning 
Among the needles of the trees ; 
From this rock land of the Cave land, 
Comes a low and doleful sound, 
That quivers in the stillness 
Of Creation — all around. 



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Where the sun has kissed the foothills, 
While their peaks are white with frost; 
Where the brakes are deep land lonely, 
And the mountain streams are lost; 
Where the silence of creation 
Marks the sadness of the hour, 
While the spirit of the demon 
Whirls his dart with mighty power — 
Against the high wall of the canon 
Of this rugged, rough land ground; 
Where the wild beasts of the forest 
Shrink from the doleful sound. 
From this high wall of the caveland 
Comes a chilling, thrilling sound — 
Plays the vision of a spirit — 
Breaking through the calcite ground. 
That quivers in the stillness 
On the vales and hills around. 

Here the rocks in fancy picture 
Castles of the Orient, 
Where the walls that form the canon 
Holds the crag that overlent; 
While the foothills of the brace rock 
Holds the one that's farthest high, 
And the one that rests upon it 
Puts its point into the sky. 
And for ages they've been polished 
By the wind that around them play, 
Until their peaks inspire glory, 
While their base is dull and gray. 



II 



And they ever keep their fulhiess 
While the age of time doth last, 
Tho' the sun is making changes 
With the shapes their shadows cast. 
And they our souls inspire, 
As we look from way to way, 
From the dawning of the morning 
Till the night shades close the day. 
Then some stray and lonely zephyr 
Weaves a roll of gentle breeze, 
Plays a sad-like, lonely music 
Through the needles of the trees. 

In this wild wood of the cragland 
Stands the face-rock of the caveland. 
Near the foothills of the mountains, 
Where the top rock is the dome. 
In this rough land near the desert 
Is the foothill of the highland. 
Where the red rock is the gateway 
To the wild wood and front range. 
Where the red man long did roam. 
Years count many — he enjoyed them- 
In this low land by the desert ! 
Near the foothills of the cragland. 
Where the red rock is the gateway 
To the Garden of the Gods. 
Near the highland and the lowland 
Is the front range of the mountains. 
Where the red man of the forest 
Long enjoyed his happy home. 



12 



Here he stayed in his own country, 
With his squaw wife and his pappoose, 
With his fox dog and his cayuse, 
By his camp fire and his tepee; 
Near the waters of the cragland, 
By the canyons of the caveland, 
Near the lowland and the highland, 
Long lived he with his kinsmen. 
In the rough land near the desert 
In the front range of the cragland, 
In the rough land of the mountains, 
Was his hidden happy home. 
Here he lived and shot his arrow 
From the cord that bent his bow, 
As he wandered from the mountains 
To the desert land below. 

Time has vanished, years have fled, 
Since from his bow the arrow sped; 
Since he drank the healing waters 
From the pure and crystal fountains 
That sparkled in the sunlight 
With their never-ending flow; 
W^hen he turned his face to heaven, 
With a longing hope and thought, 
For his Father God to bless him 
With the spirit he was taught. 
Here he lived to chase the bison, 
The antelope and doe. 
Near the meadows and the fountains, 
By the foothills, near the mountains. 
Near the rivers and the valleys, 
Where the healing waters go. 



13 



Here he lived and fought the battles 
For his lands and for his bison, 
For his pure and healing waters, 
For his wives and lovely daughters; 
Fought he near the rivers, 
Fought he near the mountains, 
Near the caveland and the fountains, 
Near the hills that's bleak and bare. 
Where the air was pure and rare. 
Where the brakes were deep and long, 
And the rocks were thick and strong ; 
Where the breeze among the trees, 
With the music of the waters, 
From the rivers and the rills. 
Through the canons and the hills. 
Where the walls are thick and long. 
Plays a lull-like woodland song. 







AUTUMN DATS 



The red man looks with care 
On the soft and balmy air, 
When the sign is really clear 
That the autumn days are near. 
Then he tries with honest pride 
To glad his Indian bride. 
Then the bison beast is tame ; 
And there is plenty other game ; 
Where the wild deer run in herds, 
And there are flocks of prairie birds ; 
When the days are calm and clear, 
And the Indian summer near; 
Then he would the moon adorn. 
With his polished powder horn ; 
And in the evening or at noon, 
He will trust the crooked moon. 
Here his ancient loyal kinsmen — 
Brave and sly, and tall and strong. 
Like the warriors of Ulysses — 
With their lances and their arrows, 
With their axes and their cudgels. 
With their war whoop and their dances. 
With their sabers and their lances, 
Made the battle fierce and long. 



15 



Here Ute Chief White Wing with his squaw wife, 

And his daughter, Juanita, and Wampuno, her lover ; 

Also with his lords and his peers, 

And his war-like Indian band. 

Long enjoyed this mountain land. 

From the valleys to the hills. 

From the rivers to the rills. 

And from time immemorial — 

They enjoyed this mountain home; 

Until some foreign foe. 

Not many years ago. 

Claimed the country they had found. 

Came and took their hunting ground. 

And they have marred his vision 

Of his home and Indian land ; 

By a plan of confiscation. 

By some strange innovation. 

He could not understand. 

And they have driven his kinsmen, 

His wives and Indian daughters, 

From the lands they loved so true. 

From the pure and healing waters — 

From the Springs of Manitou. 




t6 



JUANITA'S ABILITY 

Chief White Wing loved Juanita, 
And he taught his daughter much, 
From her childhood's early youth 
Until a maiden then well grown. 
And by all the Indian lassies 
She was loved and well known. 
And she could draw a heavy cord 
Until the bow was truly bent, 
And with steady hand and eye. 
Like a flash could then let go, 
And the arrow quick would go 
With its point — a flinted dart — 
To a distance far or near, 
Hit the roe buck in the heart. 
And she could ride a bucking tan, 
Up the hills or through the glen, 
Just as well as any man. 



17 



WAMPUNO'S DEXTERITY 

Now, Wampuno with his years 

Had grown tall and slender. 

And with his suit of buckskin 

And his headgear made of feathers, 

With his face well painted. 

Like a warrior he appeared. 

He could run like a wild deer — 

He could run for many days — 

Until he caught the fleeting steed. 

And over the mountains long and high, 

From the top down to the glen, 

He could beat the best of men. 

And his arrow went the farthest, 

From the bow that he had made ; 

For the cord was well selected 

From the pelt that he had tanned ; 

Strong the bow was, and well polished, 

And the cord was tightly twisted 

By his own ingenious hand. 

And his ears were quick of hearing. 

He could tell the kind of sound — 

If it was a panther coming, 

Or his trusty hunting hound. 

And his eyes were sharp as arrows. 

Long of range and quick of sight ; 

He could see well in the daytime, 

He could see well in the twilight, 

He could see as well at night. 



i8 



THE SWEETNESS OF THEIR 

AGE 

In the springtime of the year, 

When the frost had gone away, 

And the days were clear and bright, 

Nature bloomed with sweet delight. 

It was in the merry month of May, 

When these beauties lined the day. 

And the soft wind toned the air 

O'er the fields and meadows fair; 

When the groves were turning green 

Along the desert distant sheen, 

And the streams were rising gladly 

From their long and winter rest ; 

While the birds were busy planning 

Where tO' build their nest, 

And the piping frogs made music 

And tried to do their best. 

Now the flowers and the roses 

From their cups were breaking thru, 

While the leaves and buds were swelling 

In the soft refreshing dew ; 

And the tuneful lay of Nature, 

With the hum of many bees. 

Where the soft wind trills with music 

Thru the needles of the trees. 

Who would refuse the pleasure 

To enjoy such days as these? 



19 



It was in such days as these 
When Wampuno and Juanita 
Strolled along these loyal hills, 
With their cooing and their wooing, 
Quickly caught each other's thoughts. 
Now, Juanita loved Wampuno, 
And Wampuno loved Juanita ; 
So one dearly loved the other. 
And the other loved as much. 
And they hoth their love had won 
In their childhood happy days. 
When they sweetly played together, 
And their love then had begim. 

Now they strolled ahjng the foothills, 
By the woodland leafy IxDwers — 
Near the vallevs in the shade — 
Dreaming of the trees and flowers, 
Di^aming of their golden hours. 
And the beauties God had made. 
And they wandered like true lovers 
By the waters — near the glade 
Walked they slowly close together 
By the hillside in the shade. 
Where one went, went the other. 
And they led each other well. 
They much enjoyed their strolling 
In the twilight evening gray; 
When the rounded moon was blushing. 
Tried to drive the stars aw^ay. 



20 



Now where one went, so wxnt the other, 
Strolling much, went they together. 
Happy days, how they enjoyed them, 
In the sweetness of their age. 
Strolling where the brooklet runs, 
Strolling in the evening sun, 
Strolling in the evening twilight, 
Strolling when the stars were bright, 
Strolling when the day was done, 
Strolling both the same as one. 




21 



INDIAN SUMMER 



There's a haze upon the mountains, 
There's a trill among the trees, 
There's a lull of flowing waters, 
There's a calm within the breeze, 
There's a dullness in the autumn, 
There's a quiet in the gleam, 
And through the distant valley. 
There's a lull along the stream. 

There's a charm within the stillness 
That along the meadows glow, 
Where the rivers roll more quiet 
And the creeks are running slow ; 
All nature's resting easy, 
And the birds now softly sing, 
And the frogs are not so noisy 
As they were in early Spring. 

There's a calm in Nature's going, 
There's a shadow in the way. 
There's a quiet in the vision 
Of the autumn summer day ; 
There's a slow within the motion. 
And the days are not so long; 
Where Nature's easy moving. 
And the push is not so strong. 



2.2 



This was the time for hunting", 
When the Indian Summer came, 
For the time was then to gather 
The Fall and Winter game. 
Now all along the foothills, 
And on the desert drear, 
And in the vales and canons, 
There was plenty elk and deer. 

One day 

Wampuno said, "Juanita, 

Let's have a hunting play, 

It's in the deepest canons 

We'll best enjoy the day." 

Then took they each their ponies, 

Went up the Ute Pass Creek, 

Where the wild deer came then plenty, 

There was salt, and much to lick. 




23 



Now, Juanita was well sighted — 
Took an arrow from the quiver, 
Laid it in the little niche, 
Drew the bow and cord apart ; 
Then with caution, like her nature, 
Moving closer — and real sly — 
Like a panther for its prey, 
In the Jungle of the Rockies ; 
Where the roe buck could not hear, 
With her steady arm and eye 
Drew the bow and cord apart, 
Drove the arrow from its holding 
W^ith the force she had to throw it, 
Right in the roe buck's heart. 
Then it gave a bleat of sorrow, 
For it was a deadly wound. 
And the red blood quickly went 
Right upon the virgin ground. 

Now Juanita felt a sadness — 
Shuddered at the sight, then said : 
^'Pretty thing, dearest deer, 
I feel sorry it is dead ; 
I trust I've not done wrong; 
They have come — we must live. 
If we kill just what we need, 
The Great Father will forgive." 



24 



Then Wampuno took the deer 

And placed it on his riding horse ; 

And Juanita was now ready, 

Quickly went they then to camp, 

To see Juanita's father. 

Who was at the wigwam staying. 

And when he saw they had returned, 

Said, "Juanita, now do tell me — 

Tell me all about the chase — 

Was the deer so very tame, 

And in what canon was it found, 

And how did you get the pretty game?" 

Then Juanita told Chief White Wing — 

Told her father all about it — 

How she shot the roe buck there 

At the salt lick where it came; 

How she slyly kept her hiding. 

Took the arrow from the quiver, 

Placed it in the niche made for it. 

Drew the cord and bow apart. 

Took good aim and well determined. 

At the roe buck that was standing, 

Drove the arrow in its heart. 



25 




nhe Deer Juanita Killed witK Her Arrow 



Then White Wing took his daughter, 
Whom he loved with Indian pride. 
Drew Juanita close up to him, 
Pressed her fondly to his side. 
Then he took her flowing tresses, 
Softly moved them from her brow, 
And said, ^'Me much worry, dear Juanita; 
Me had much big Indian dream ; 
Me no much can understand ; 
Fought me much with big white man ; 
Then me must Juanita save ; 
Took my Idarling Indian daughter, 
From the sparkling springs of water, 
Went right in the Windy Cave. 




27 



THE ANCIENT CAVE 

The red man long has known of thee, 
And oft has heard thy crooning sound, 
And knelt beside thy parting walls, 
And placed his ear close to the ground, 
To catch the movements of thy breath. 
And feel the beating of thy heart, 
When life was ebbing close in death. 
From whence his spirit may depart. 

He long has lived close by thy place. 
And near thy door has made his home. 
While hurricanes roar and wild beasts howl, 
He felt secure within thy dome. 
He looks upon thy crystal walls 
As tokens sent by heaven's hand ; 
Thru thee he may his soul impart, 
And pass into the spirit land. 

His aching heart had hope in thee, 
That thou canst lead by spirit hand, 
And with thy gems and through thy shrines, 
Would waft him to the spirit land. 
These emblems much his soul depends. 
With upturned face and quivering lips, 
To trust his bow and heal his wounds, 
And give him his happy hunting ground. 



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RETURNED FROM THE 
HUNT 

In the noontime of the day. 
When the fog had gone away, 
And the hunters had returned 
From their long and heavy tramp, 
With the game they had well earned, 
They had wandered back to camp ; 
With their faces tanned and burnt, 
From their Indian Summer hunt. 



BY THE HILLS OF 
MANITOU 

In this wild wood of the front range 

Is the cragland of the mountains, 

By the caveland near the canons, 

In this roughland near the fountains, 

Ute Chief White Wing with his squaw wife, 

And Juanita and Wampuno; 

With his lords and his peers, 

And his warlike Indian band, 

Many moons and many years. 

Long enjoyed this mountain land. 



29 




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BY THE GATEWAY OF THE 
GARDEN OF THE GODS 



In the summer evening gray, 
When the brilliant sun was sinking, 
O'er the mountains far away ; 
While they all enjoyed their resting, 
Talking of their ancient people, 
Of their fathers and their mothers. 
Of their sisters and their brothers, 
Of their ancient vanished kinsmen. 
How they lived the same as they. 

Of a sudden, some commotion 
Startled White Wing, and he rose 
To his feet, tall and stately; 
Like a warrior was his makeup, 
From his headgear to his toes. 
He had sighted on the desert 
Something strange and something queer, 
On the prairie in the distance. 
Moving to the mountains slowly — 
Every day 'twas coming near. 



31 



In the noontime of the day, 

When the rain cloud passed away, 

When the sun had warmed the air, 

And the sky was nice and fair, 

White Wing saw on the range 

Something nearing very strange. 

Then looked he to the ground, 

With a sad and sorry frown 

That drove from him all his gladness 

And left him with a face of sadness, 

That worked him up to fits of madness, 

That brought him to a quick conclusion 

What to do and what to say 

To his warriors of the day; 

That in their mind brought on confusion. 

But White Wing saw there was no delusion, 

So he called all his men and said : 

"White man come from much big country. 

White man come from much big waters, 

White man come from much big rivers. 

White man — much strong man — 

Come many, take much Indian land ; 

So Indian must put on much red paint, 

Indian must make much big fire, 

Indian must make much big war dance, 

Indian must make much big war trance." 



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THE BATTLE 



In the twilight of the day. 
When the stars had sunk away, 
By the noon October sun — 
Then the fight had well begun — 
With the panting of their breath, 
Brought them to the vale of death ; 
With their sobs and dying groans, 
Left the battle field alone. 

White Wing saw that he had lost, 
And his land would pay the cost, 
While he yet was strong and brave. 
He took Juanita, his dear daughter, 
From the sparkling springs of water, 
'And like an arrow quickly went 
Right into the windy cave. 




33 



JUANITA'S LOVE FOR WAMPUNO 

Now, Juanita loved Wampuno, 
For he was blithe and game, 
Good of mind, and strong of frame, 
Nice big Indian, with good name, 
Wampuno loved Juanita much ; 
And he never did forget her, and 
When the batt^le waged with heat 
Near the cragland and the caveland. 
Where White Wing and Juanita 
Made a quick and sad retreat. 
Here Wampuno and his comrades. 
With their weapons like their fathers', 
Fought the pale face best they could ; 
With their axes and their lances. 
Like great heroes brave and strong. 
Made the battle fierce and long. 
Fought they for their lands and people. 
For their homes and place to dwell. 
For their mountains and their hills, 
For their rivers and their rills ; 
Fought they till the eve of day, 
When his comrades stole away. 
He knew not that Juanita 
To the Ute Pass of the mountains. 
With her father, then had fled 
To the wind cave there to hide ; 
Without food and without water, 
In the caverock near the canyon. 
Chief White Wing with his daughter 
W^ere imprisoned till they died. 



34 



WAMPUNO'S LOVE FOR 
JUANITA 

Wampuno loved Juanita 
From her early childhood days, 
And oft enjoyed her frolic 
Where the rocks were strong and high, 
Until the evening shade of twilight 
When the star shone in the skies. 
And he never could forget her, 
With her furs and Indian dresses. 
With her dark and flowing tresses, 
With her rounded cheek like roses 
That flushed a roseate fullness; 
With her long and catching lashes, 
And sight that sent their flashes 
From her bright and rounded eyes. 



AFTER THE BATTLE 

Near the dawning of the day. 
When the night shade passed away, 
Wampuno, anxious much in mind, 
Hoped Juanita he could find. 
O'er the hills and through the vales, 
And through many lonely trails. 
Naught could he Juanita find. 
Thus went he in many ways, 
Thinking of their childhood days. 
And her cute and winning ways, 
When they both with tiny fingers, 
In the bright and sparkling waters 
So baby like they played. 

35 



TAKEN ACROSS THE RANGE 

White man come and red man go 
O'er the mountains, through the snow; 
Holding on his face a frown, 
Until his native sun goes down. 



WAMPUNO RETURNS TO 
FIND JUANITA 

Now, Wampuno, wearied much with sorrow, 

Where to look and where to go. 

Where Juanita would be staying. 

He much would be glad to know. 

So he wandered back again. 

Through the snow and in the rain. 

And through the lonely canon wind ; 

Over hills and over vales, 

Tracing many lonely trails, 

That he might Ji^^^nita find. 

He had wandered far and near. 

Through the storm and in the clear. 

With his eyes straining through 

All the mountain and the canons 

And the lands of Manitou. 

Then much fatigued and broke of rest, 

With much sorrow in his breast, 

Leaned against a rock to rest. 

Then prayed he in heart and mind. 

That he would Juanita find. 



36 



With the chimes of woodland song, 
Soon he there in visions swung; 
By the lull of flowing waters — 
With the music of the stream — 
In the bright and brilliant sunshine. 
He much fancied in a dream 
That he saw his dear Juanita 
Coming to him. Vision fair, 
Closer, closer, it now came ; 
Called Wampuno by his name ; 
Looked the angel in the face — 
Thought he, could they embrace. 
Then she smiled and softly said : 
'Touch me not, Wampuno dear, 
Lest I quickly disappear. 
Follow me and you can see 
The earthly part that's left of me." 
Then she led him to a cave, 
There he saw her timely grave; 
Thinking he had found his love, 
But she vanished like a dove. 



Z7 



When he awoke the sun shone clear, 

That brightly toned the atmosphere ; 

And he heard the crooning sound 

Coming through the calcite ground. 

Then went he straightway to the cave — 

There he found Juanita's grave. 

Tho' much sorrow bent upon him 

By the sight of death, and grave, 

Yet felt he that the Great Father 

Did Juanita's spirit save. 

And now she was an angel. 

Living in the spirit land. 

With his sorrow he had comfort 

In the beauties of the place. 

Where the slender cicles tapered 

From the walls of crystal lace. 

Then in peace he humbly knelt. 

And made some signs to heaven — 

Said : ''Life's a dream, Juanita's dead, 

And from this place I must go — 

Lest I be by white man found, 

And I be with fetters bound." 

And he could not longer stay 

With what he saw and heard ; 

Broken hearted, bent his bow, 

Drove his arrow in the ground, 

And fled from the crooning sound — 

And the Cave of the Wind, 

That he had found. 



.38 



CONCLUSION 

Time has flitted, 

Years have fled 

Since Ute Chief White Wing- 

And his kinsmen 

Long enjoyed these loyal hills. 

They have vanished like their fathers 

In the dim and distant past. 

But the song of dear Juanita 

In sweet dreams will ever last — 

How she perished with her father, 

When he tried them both to save. 

When the angel took their spirits, 

Left their bodies in the cave. 

Yet the time is not far coming. 
As the days go swiftly on. 
When a legend of these people 
And Juanita will be sung. 

And the days of their enjoyment, 
How so loyal and so true ; 
With their friends who sadly perished, 
Near the hills of Manitou. 



39 



Those dear hills will last forever, 
With their trees of evergreen, 
And the signs of the Ute people 
In the village will be seen. 

Loyal people to their kinsmen, 
Living as primeval age ; 
Banished they from their own country, 
They will line a history's page. 

In the future they'll be known, 
With the nations yet to come ; 
And by whom their land was taken, 
Many legends will be sung. 



Composed by J. H. Williams. 



Sparks of Light Near the Cragland. 
March 14, 191 4. 



Lot 74 



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